


Our Little Home

by nerdywriter36



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: F/M, No true plot, cause that's my guilty pleasure, just e/c family content, just little oneshots whenever i feel like updating, mostly surrounding erik being a dad, pure fluff, soft baby daddy erik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdywriter36/pseuds/nerdywriter36
Summary: Christine reflects on the little home that she and Erik have built for their growing family.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 21
Kudos: 66





	1. At Peace

It was quiet.

That was the first thing that Christine noticed when she stepped into her home - her _family's_ home. She hadn't thought that she would be so fortunate to have a humble little flat like the one she called home now; at least, she hadn't considered having a flat aboveground in Paris. After her marriage to Erik, she had been content to think that she would spend her days in the home that he had made for himself beneath the Opera House, and for the longest time, that had been Erik's plan as well.

That is, before they found out about the baby.

She had had her suspicions before she knew for certain; she had ignored the nausea when it first began, passing it off as illness that would fade over time. When it persisted, though, in combination with missing her monthly cycle three months in a row, an increasing, unfamiliar tenderness in her breasts, and the slight, yet noticeable, tightening in her bodices, she knew that her hunch had been correct.

Despite knowing that she was carrying a baby - carrying Erik's baby - she hesitated to tell him, to share her joy with him, for she didn't know how he would react. Would he share her enthusiasm for the child they were expecting together? Or would his emotions take over as they so often did, sending him into a blind rage or a fit of tears that only ended in him locking himself in his music room for hours on end? The latter option was the one that frightened her; she knew that overstimulation was far from healthy for him, what with the already weakened state of his heart. So in the wake of her uncertainty, she had turned to someone who had become as much of a friend and confidante as he was for Erik - the Daroga.

She still recalled how Nadir's eyes had widened slightly when she had told him the news, followed quickly by him helping her onto the sofa in his parlour so she could explain her concerns to him.

"You must approach it delicately with him. That is the only advice I can give to you, Christine," he had said, gently holding her hand in his own. "I would be happy to be there with you to ensure that all is well."

Christine had never been so glad to have him there as she had been that evening. When she had told Erik the news, her voice as soft and gentle as she could possibly make it, he had still had an immediate outburst; he had jumped to his feet, towering over her where she sat on their sofa, and torn his mask off, demanding how she could possibly bear to bring a child into the world with the risk of it looking anything like him. But just as tears had begun to pool in her eyes, just as Nadir had stepped to his friend's side to calm him, an expression of pain had washed over her husband's face and his knees had buckled under him, his weakened heart betraying him in the moment of such intense emotions.

If Nadir had not been there, Christine did not know what she would have done. Simply sat by her husband's side on the ground as she waited for him to return to consciousness and gain even the slightest bit of strength to walk back to bed, she guessed. Thankfully, Nadir had caught him before he hit the floor and carried him to their bed, staying longer than expected to wait until his friend's eyes opened again. He had been less than pleased when Erik refused to give them permission to call a doctor but still chose to give Christine a gentle kiss on the cheek and to wish her all the best before leaving the couple to themselves.

And it was then, with Erik's emotions once more in check - after a few moments of crying and begging for Christine's forgiveness, that is, - his right hand holding tightly onto Christine's and the left, albeit weak and slightly numb, resting on her stomach, that they decided that they were going to bring their baby into the world, taking on whatever challenges the experience might throw at them.

Erik had remained hesitant about the prospect of fatherhood and the potential for his son or daughter to resemble him, but he had done his best to do away with those negative trains of thought for Christine's sake. Once he had recovered enough to be up and about again (though Christine would have much preferred that he had rested for even longer), he had returned to her with the news that he had purchased a home on the streets of Paris, not far from Nadir's flat on the Rue du Rivoli. Ecstatic at the news, Christine had jumped out of her chair and into his arms, laughing along with him as Erik carefully lifted her just off of the ground to twirl her around, sharing in his wife's joy about the new life to come for their growing family.

That had been months ago. Now they had their little flat and they had their little boy, but the noticeable absence of noise from that same boy - or his father, for that matter - was what put a frown on Christine's face as she slipped her shoes off and walked through the house. She noticed two teacups on the table in the parlour, the samovar out on the counter in the kitchen; Nadir had stopped by, then.

Still, there was no sign of Erik or their son anywhere she looked; the parlour was empty, as was Erik's study. She lingered for a moment in the doorway to the nursery. It wasn't in use just yet, as their son still slept in his bassinet in their bedroom, but she couldn't help but admire it; Erik had designed every little detail of it, from the curtains on the window down to the carpet on the floor. "For them, it has to be perfect," he had said, and perfect it was.

With a small smile on her face, Christine turned to continue her search but found her attention drawn to the soft glow of an oil lamp streaming out of the master bedroom through the door that had been left only slightly ajar. Creeping down the hall, she gently pushed open the door and couldn't stop the smile that immediately formed on her face and the warmth that flooded her chest at what she saw.

Erik stood at the foot of their bed, his back to the door, dressed in his nightshirt. The bedclothes had been pushed aside, Christine noticed, proving to her that he had actually been in bed that evening. Whether he had been reading or genuinely trying to sleep didn't matter to her; any instance of him actually being in bed instead of in his study, falling asleep at his desk, was an accomplishment in her mind.

In his arms, propped up on his shoulder, was their son, Charles, looking so small when cuddled close to him. At only three months old, he looked small even in comparison to his father's hands, though Erik's long fingers probably contributed to that.

"My greatest creation," Erik so often called him. Christine still recalled his practically palpable relief when Charles had been born and looked nothing like him, save for his pale complexion and the gold flecks in his eyes; even still, had he shared Erik's features, she had a feeling he would have loved him nonetheless.

Erik was maskless, she noticed; the pale, gaunt, noseless face that she had come to adore rather than fear leaning against the side of their baby's head as he softly hummed a lullaby, gently swaying back and forth to keep Charles asleep. He pressed the occasional gentle kiss to his son's head, whispering to him things that Christine could not hear, but knew without a doubt were words of adoration.

Not wishing to disturb the father-son pair, yet knowing that Erik was well aware of her presence, Christine quietly stepped further into the room. She managed to slip out of her dress and corset, leaving her in just her chemise and stockings. She pulled the pins out of her hair, set them on her vanity, then stepped over to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. "Someone didn't want to sleep?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Not by himself, at least. He was alright for a while, but didn't stay quite so content for very long," Erik whispered, giving his son another kiss. "I've been here for the better part of an hour; every time I try to set him down, he cries. Not that I mind holding him, of course."

Christine simply hummed in response, standing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her husband's cheek. "Thank you for giving him to me."

"You needn't thank me for that, dearest. That said, perhaps I'll consider the possibility of giving you another little one like him."

"Truly?" Christine breathed, watching as Erik turned to face her, a warm smile on his face. "Erik, you...I never would have thought-"

"Nor would I, but having him here now has made me reconsider," Erik replied, leaning forward and gently pressing his thin lips to her own fuller ones. "We have room here in our little home for a growing family, and I would be happy to see it happen."


	2. Welcome Disturbances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> erik's sleep is disturbed by his son, but he can't find a reason to mind.

Erik set his quill down in its ink well with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair as he overlooked the composition on his desk in front of him. He had been trying to work on it for weeks, but since the arrival of his son three months prior, his focus had been on something much more important to him than music; words he never thought he would say, but when his baby was in the question, he could say that a hundred times over. 

His baby. Even just thinking about those words made a smile form on his face. He had never thought he would be so privileged as to have a loving wife by his side, never mind a child of his own to cradle in his arms and love. He was able to give them everything he had wanted as a child; the embrace of a parent, the pleasure of being kissed whenever they wished...the love from a father. He had never been privileged enough to have any of that as a boy, but he was determined to give his son exactly that and more. 

With a glance at the clock, he realized that he had stayed up far too late and knew that he would end up getting an earful about it from his wife come morning, so he left his composition unfinished for another day and made his way towards the master bedroom. He pushed the door open at a snail’s pace, wanting the hinges to squeak as little as possible so he wouldn’t wake either of the people that were already fast asleep in the room; he knew very well that neither of them would be happy if they were woken up. 

He was glad that he was already in his nightclothes; Christine had gotten him into the habit of changing out of his shirt and trousers when he was simply lounging around the house in the evenings. To be fair, it was much more practical when it came to taking care of Charles. No article of clothing was particularly safe when there was a baby around and his nightshirt and trousers were so much easier to wash than his suit. Not to mention that they were significantly more comfortable. 

He tip-toed over to the bassinet in the corner of the room, near Christine’s side of the bed, and looked down at his son, smiling fondly as soon as he set his sights on the little boy’s face. He shared a few physical traits with his mother, for certain - he had her round cheeks, her small ears, and her button nose, which Erik thanked God for every night - but he could tell that his own features ran through the boy. He had been named for his grandfather on Erik’s side; a father he didn’t know outside of a few details and a photograph that was set on his desk in his study. But true to his namesake, the little boy shared the pale complexion and dark hair that both his father and grandfather possessed. His personality, talents, and interests would develop later but would be intriguing to discover nonetheless.

“Hello, my boy,” Erik whispered as he leaned over the bassinet, reaching down to gently brush the baby’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m sorry I was working tonight and couldn’t let you fall asleep on my chest like I usually do; I promise that I’ll make up for it tomorrow. For now, I have to sleep myself so Maman won’t get upset with me, though. Sleep well, my son. I love you very much.” 

Leaning down, Erik gently brushed his lips against Charles’ forehead, smiling warmly at him as he watched the baby stir slightly while he slept, a quiet coo escaping him as he wandered through the dream he was having. Whatever it was, his only wish was that it was a sweet, peaceful dream and nothing less for his son. 

He stepped over to the bed then, gently pulling back the covers on his side and slowly slipping under them so as not to rouse his sleeping wife. That was the last thing he wanted to do; as much as he knew Christine adored motherhood, he was well aware that the lack of sleep was taking its toll on her. Looking at her then, though, even in the dark, with her messy hair, pursed lips, and the strap of her nightgown falling off of her shoulder, she had never looked so beautiful to him. 

He hadn’t thought it possible for her beauty on the day of their wedding to be surpassed; her flowing white gown, delicate lace veil, and beautiful rose bouquet had emphasized her beauty tenfold, setting a record for said beauty to him. But then, the news of the pregnancy came and, once he had gotten past his shock and fear, the sight of seeing her in her maternity gowns, her hands cradling the swell of her belly had blown away any previous moment in which he found her the most beautiful.  _ Never could that sight be beaten,  _ he had thought. 

And yet, he had been proved wrong once more, on the day of their son’s birth. Seeing Christine propped up with pillows in their bed beaming down at their newborn son cradled in the crook of her arm, had made his heart swell and tears immediately fill his eyes. That moment had been enough to tell him that that day and every day from then on was going to be absolutely beautiful. 

A fond smile on his face at the memories, Erik pulled the bedsheets over him, untied the strings of his mask and slipped it off to set it aside on his nightstand. He had never felt so comfortable with removing the mask - to take it off had meant vulnerability and weakness his entire life - but in his new life, in his room, in his home, with his wife cuddled close to his side and their baby boy resting peacefully nearby, he knew he was safe to be vulnerable and fall into a truly restful sleep. 

~ 

That restful sleep didn’t last. If the last three months were any indication, that was his new reality for the next little while. 

Charles’ shrill cry brought him out of his slumber, though he kept his eyes closed when the light from Christine’s bedside gas lamp filled the room. Half-asleep, he listened to his wife’s soothing voice as his son’s cries grew closer and louder, only to quiet into content little gulping sounds, which was what moved Erik to open his eyes and smile sleepily at what he saw; Christine was sitting up in bed, smiling down at Charles as she held him to her breast while he nursed. That was a sight he had grown used to over the three short months of his son’s life; at the start, he had tried to step out of the room whenever his wife breastfed their son, wanting to give her the privacy that she needed. Gradually, though, she helped him to see that she had no qualms with him being present, and after that, he enjoyed getting to be part of such an intimate moment between mother and baby. He counted it as a wonderful privilege that he had been awarded. 

“Someone was hungry, hm?” Erik asked, his voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his face and sat up beside his wife. 

“He was, yes, though he slept longer than I expected him to,” Christine said softly. “That was quite nice; I got some extra sleep in. He didn’t wake you, did he?” 

“Oh, he did, but I don't mind. Any disturbance from him is a welcome one,” Erik replied, gently smoothing down his son’s hair with a fond smile. “He seemed to be sleeping well when I came in to go to bed. He was dreaming as well.” 

Christine laughed quietly and nodded her head. “He certainly does dream quite a bit. He moves around and makes little noises in his sleep so often that I can only imagine what runs through his brilliant little mind. Needless to say, he must be creative for that to happen. Just like his Papa.” 

Erik simply smiled and leaned his head against his wife’s, falling into a content silence for a time until his attention was drawn to his son when he finished nursing and vouched to gaze up at his father instead. 

“Well, hello. You’ve finished now, have you?” he said, carefully taking the boy from his wife and propping him up on his shoulder before beginning to gently pat his back - yet another example of something that Christine had taught him was necessary in his journey as a parent in order to avoid a very cranky, uncomfortable baby. 

“Feel free to go back to sleep, my angel. I can make sure he goes back to sleep,” he added with a glance over at his wife, only to smile when she vouched to shuffle closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Or you could do that instead and stay awake with me and Charles, though I’m not sure why you would do that instead of going back to sleep. We’ll only disturb you and then you’ll never be able to get back to sleep.” 

“As you said, my love; a disturbance from you two is one that I count as a welcome one,” Christine said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her husband’s cheek and setting her hand over his where it still rested on Charles’ back. “And any time that I get the chance to spend with my husband and son is time well spent indeed.” 


End file.
